Broken Glasses

It seems like I am impatient with this strep. My daughter seems to be getting a little better, I mean, she is not crying all the time, but I thought that she would feel tons better being on antibiotics for two days. Someone tell me that it takes a few and that will be enough for me. I have never dealt with this before.

I started Prince Caspian last night with her. I told her to go down and get "the next book" and she came up with it, reluctant. So, we are not committing a Narnian crime, we are doing the right thing. I feel much better.

The Oldest is addicted to a lotion from Bath and Body Works that I got as a gift years ago (Sandalwood Rose). I put it in the downstairs bathroom to get it used up. Now I smell it everywhere. He keeps rubbing his hands together and telling me that his scent is so nice for stress relief. Give me a break.

Yesterday I heard some booming going on upstairs and pretty soon the Oldest came down with his BRAND NEW pair of glasses, completely bent and the lens popped out. I almost took his hand and bit it. "{Eraser Eater} sat on them!" he yelped in high tones.

"Who took them off to be sat on? Were you rough-housing?"

"Yes...." he winced.

A few weeks ago this happened to Eraser Eater's glasses. You go through it enough (last year the Oldest lost his in some kid's yard) to where you imagine yourself at that moment holding up the damaged frames and screaming into the turning of the day, but then you come to your senses quickly remembering that it only gives you a hoarse voice and a headache. Parents with kids that are as old as mine are tired, people. And if they are older than me, they are more tired. If only you could just give them an Indian burn or something for your trouble of having to get them fixed, but then you realize that is juvenile. You have already taken away game cube. It doesn't work either with Eraser Eater because he could care less about anything but drawing plans and Architectural Record. I can't take that away. That would be plain abuse.

I should have made him write sentences. I made him do it last week. Boy, was that a chore. It was more punishment for me than for him. He just cried a lot and wrote. I had to listen to it and talk him down. Not only was this happening at all, it was happening in public, at the pool. Yes, I made him take his notebook to the pool before he could go in it and write, "I will not hit my brother" fifty times. When half-way through, I found that he did not write "in his best cursive" (he wrote in print) as indicated on the top of the page, so I made him start over. Oh, if hell could rise up and gobble the earth! He immediately wept and lamented, right in the car on the way to the pool.

Sorry pal, you do it right the first time.

And as I read over what I just wrote, I think how ridiculously easy that punishment is. I get so sick of hearing, "my hand hurts!" and all that rot.

So---on the list for today---get the glasses fixed.